


did it hurt?

by butterflysky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, M/M, Meet-Cute, What Are We, an incredibly elaborate, bucky doesn't know how to date, mild description of PTSD, minor description of injuries, natasha/sharon is just background, some mild body image stuff maybe, some minor references to character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 02:21:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14740227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterflysky/pseuds/butterflysky
Summary: Bucky finds out in a very unconventional way that his neighbour Steve has been stealing his wi-fi, and Steve tries to pay him back. Bucky can't tell if they're dating. Natasha finds this hilarious.





	did it hurt?

Bucky’s having a pretty terrible day. 

It starts with him sleeping through his alarm, and then he’s late for his shift at the store, and _then_ he accidentally screws up a sale and loses all that sweet, sweet commission and has to endure Natasha laughing at him for the rest of the day.

He consoles himself on the ride home with thoughts of his new blender, sitting freshly unwrapped in his kitchen. Natasha bought it for him as an extremely late birthday present after she caught him staring longingly at her own on cocktail night, and he already loves it. His cocktail game is about to go _way_ up. He’s thinking daiquiris, pina coladas, margaritas…

As soon as he gets back to his apartment, he grabs his laptop and sets it up on the kitchen side, ignoring that it’s probably a bad idea to have it so close to the sink, and pulls up a cocktail recipe. If he’s going to impress next time he hosts, he needs practice. He’s going to make something _fancy._

It’s all going great until his ice tray breaks and the ice shatters all over his kitchen floor.

Bucky groans and puts his head in his hands. Apparently, this day is intent on taking everything from him.

He sighs, resigns himself to putting off cocktail practice for another night, and goes to get the dustpan and brush. Natasha can never know about this, he thinks. She’s already convinced she’s winning at cocktail night that month, even though it’s not actually a competition, as Clint keeps complaining (whatever — Natasha and Bucky _know_ it is). 

He’s mulling over his plan for next week when he steps back into the kitchen, and promptly slips on all the _fucking ice how could he forget the ice all over the floor_ and falls flat on his face.

“Ow,” he mumbles, because his kitchen floor is way too hard, and he’s pretty sure something sharp has embedded itself in his forehead. When he touches his fingertips to his skin, they come away red.

“Fuck’s sake,” he mutters, and gets up, but—oh, okay, that’s a lot of blood coming from his head. It’s getting close to his eye, so he squints it shut and steps carefully back to his laptop. There’s no way he’s going back to the hospital — he hasn’t been there again since he lost his arm, and the smell, the lights, the needles, the _everything_ will only drag up those memories again and that’s the absolute last thing he wants. He’s dealt with worse on his own, he can handle a cut on his forehead now.

He searches _how to deal with cut on forehead_ as best he can with his eyes half screwed shut, and tries to make out the results. He knows it’ll probably heal up fine on its own, but, well, better safe than sorry.

And then, there’s a pounding at his front door. He frowns in its direction, because he doesn’t actually know anyone in his building and none of his friends can get in without him buzzing them in. Whoever it is, they don’t need to see Bucky bleeding all over himself, so he ignores it and goes back to reading about _applying pressure_ and _cleaning the injury._

The knocking comes again, and it’s insistent. It goes on for longer, and louder.

Bucky’s irritation turns into full blown annoyance when the knocking stops, then starts up again. He stomps over, yanks it open, and snaps “ _What?_ ” He thinks he can be forgiven for the rudeness, all things considered.

“Hi,” someone — his neighbour, Bucky realises — says, a bit breathlessly. “I can help you with that.”

“What?” Bucky says, again.

His neighbour points at Bucky’s forehead. “That. Can I come in?”

“Uh,” Bucky says.

His neighbour actually holds up a small first aid kit and smiles sheepishly.

“Oh,” Bucky says, because that could be useful. He has his own, of course, but it’s mostly empty.

It’s only when he’s shut the door behind his neighbour that he realises.

“Wait,” he says. “How did you know to bring that?”

“Uh,” his neighbour says, and even with his eyes half shut Bucky can see that the man’s face has gone red. “I—um, I think you turned on screen sharing or something, because I could see you searching about head injuries on my TV—”

“ _What?_ ” Bucky says, and now _he’s_ flushing red. “How long has that been going on for?” His voice is distinctly squeaky. 

“Not long!” the man blurts, and Bucky gives him a sceptical look. “Okay, a while, but—”

“Wait,” Bucky says. “That only happens if everything’s connected to the same wi-fi.”

The man looks sheepish again, and Bucky gapes at him.

“You’ve been using my wi-fi?!”

“Borrowing!” he says, defensively. “Not forever! I just—mine got shut off, and I really needed it—”

“Did you hack me?” Bucky demands.

The man gives _him_ a sceptical look. “Your password is 1234.”

Bucky glares at him. “This is not my shitty password’s fault!”

“No, no, I know,” the man says, holding his hands out. “I’m sorry, I am, I just really needed wi-fi—”

“Did you need it on your _TV?_ ” Bucky snaps, and the man has the nerve to look frustrated.

“We can talk about this later,” he says, annoyingly self-righteous. “Right now, you need that cut seen to.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky says, dismissively. “I just tripped and hit my head.”

“You _tripped?_ ” the man repeats, scandalised. “You need to have that looked at—”

“ _No,_ ” Bucky says, forcefully. “It’s fine.”

The man looks at him, unimpressed, then says, “Well, I’ll do my best.”

“I’m throwing you out for stealing my wi-fi,” Bucky says, but the man ignores him and points him to sit at his own kitchen table.

“I’m Steve,” the man says, as he starts digging through his first aid kit.

“Bucky,” Bucky sighs. “Is it bad?”

“It looks kinda deep,” Steve says, then Bucky catches the scent of an antiseptic wipe and braces himself for the sting.

He winces while Steve cleans up the cut, but then he can see again, and then he’s aware of Steve’s intently focused face right in front of his and his stomach betrays him and twists with what feels like _attraction._ No, he thinks. He is _not_ attracted to the wi-fi stealer, even if he is unfairly hot.

“Hmm,” Steve says, and Bucky peers up at him.

“What?” Bucky asks. “What’s wrong?”

“It looks like it’ll be alright without stitches,” Steve says, and Bucky freaks out a bit because he hadn’t even considered _stitches._ “It just needs a band aid.”

“Great,” Bucky says, and then realises Steve is actually going to put the band aid on him and goes still. “I could put that on myself, you know.”

“I know,” Steve says, brow furrowed in concentration as he presses the band aid to Bucky’s forehead. His tongue is even poking out a bit, and Bucky groans internally and refuses to look. “Might as well go the whole mile, though.” Steve leans back and beams at him, and Bucky reluctantly returns the smile.

“I’m going to check you for a concussion,” Steve says, authoritatively, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t hit my head _that_ hard—”

“Head injuries are serious, Buck,” Steve says, sternly, and Bucky feels vaguely chastised until he realises Steve just called him _Buck._

Bucky answers Steve’s questions until he’s apparently satisfied that Bucky really is fine, and then Bucky stands and says, “Now we have to talk about the wi-fi,” and Steve frowns and starts twisting a roll of gauze from the first aid kit in his hands.

“I was just borrowing it,” Steve says, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“ _Borrowing,_ ” Bucky says. “How are you gonna give me back my wi-fi?”

“Well, I’ve been using it for a few months, so—”

“A few _months?_ ” Bucky says, his voice pitched high. “And you’ve just been sat there watching on your TV all that time?”

“No!” Steve says. “Whenever that happened I’d turn the TV off.”

“That’s good of you,” Bucky says, and glares at him.

Steve keeps twisting the gauze up. “I can—I can get you coffee, or something,” he says. “To start paying you back.”

Bucky sighs. “No, it’s fine. You fixed my head, that’s enough.” His glare is half-hearted, this time. “Stop using it, though.”

“I will,” Steve says. “I’ll call the company tomorrow and get mine back.”

“What happened there, anyway?” Bucky asks. “You said it got shut off?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve says, and twists the gauze into a knot. “I just—I kind of, forgot to pay for it for a while. But then I really need it for work, so I—”

“Stole mine,” Bucky breaks in, dryly. “And used it to watch TV.”

Steve blushes again, and mumbles, “Borrowed.”

Bucky takes the gauze out of his hands before he can rip it to shreds and puts it back in the first aid kit box. “Thanks, Steve.”

“It’s—it’s okay,” Steve says. “Are you sure about coffee? There’s a great place down the street…”

Bucky looks up at him, at his too tight t-shirt and his golden hair and his blue eyes and his hopeful expression, sighs, and says, “Okay. Coffee tomorrow.”

Steve smiles wide at him, and Bucky, a little grudgingly, smiles back.

***

It turns out Steve’s mom was a nurse, and that’s why he’s so stressy about head injuries and has such a well-stocked first aid kit.

“I was also an accident prone kid,” Steve says, taking a big sip of coffee and getting foam all over his lip. Bucky watches him lick it off and tries not to let his mouth drop open. “It’s a good idea to know how to fix yourself up.”

“Uh huh,” Bucky says. He knows Steve has noticed his arm by now, but he’s very politely refrained from asking. Bucky’s glad, because it’s not the kind of thing he likes to talk about. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got a neighbour who knows about these things.”

Steve has a very bashful smile, Bucky’s noticed. He’s not sure why, when the guy looks the way he does, but any even remotely complimentary words has him blushing and ducking his head.

“And, you know, who _borrows_ my wi-fi,” Bucky says, and smirks at Steve when his head jerks back up.

“Very funny,” Steve says, but he’s smiling.

When they’ve finished their coffee, Steve gives the receipt a long look, then says, “You know, I don’t think this covers the cost of six months of internet.”

Bucky’s glad he’s finished his coffee, because he would’ve spat it out if he was still drinking. “ _Six months of—_ ”

“I can, uh, get you another coffee? Some time? To keep paying it back,” Steve interrupts, and his face is red again.

Bucky stops spluttering. “Oh yeah?” he asks, and Steve goes redder. “Sure.”

Steve looks relieved, but he’s going even _redder._ “Okay. Um, next week? Same time and place?”

Bucky only just stops himself from saying _it’s a date!_ and instead says, “Sounds good. See you then, Steve.”

As soon as Steve’s disappeared from view round a corner, Bucky grabs his phone from his pocket and texts Natasha: _man do I have a funny story to tell you at cocktail night._

***

Natasha finds it _hilarious,_ as Bucky knew she would. He’d reassessed his initial judgement of _she can never know_ when he’d got a sort-of-maybe-almost-date out of  it. 

“So how come when you face plant the floor you get a date, and I just get laughed at?” Clint complains, and that sets Natasha off laughing even harder.

“It’s not a _date,_ ” Bucky says, taking as big a sip of his margarita as he can manage. “He’s paying me back for stolen goods and a massive invasion of privacy.”

Natasha stops laughing long enough to have a drink, and then says, “You want it to be a date though, don’t you?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, _yeah._ I wouldn’t exactly mind.”

Natasha starts laughing again.

Clint still looks mildly affronted by the whole thing. “So, the guy’s just been watching your search history for half a year and you’re okay with it?”

“He says he didn’t look,” Bucky says. “And I think I believe him.” Something about Steve seemed honest, despite the whole stealing-or-borrowing-wi-fi thing.

“Well, be careful,” Clint says, and takes a judgemental sip of his cocktail.

Bucky flicks some crushed ice at him, and Natasha gasps exaggeratedly and says, “ _Careful_ Barnes, don’t you know this ice is _dangerous?_ ” and then still doesn’t stop giggling when he throws a handful at her.

“I win tonight,” Bucky announces.

“You can’t win a night that _I_ hosted!” Clint protests, but Bucky shrugs and knocks back the rest of his drink.

“This is gold,” Natasha says, and flicks ice at Clint.

***

At their next coffee date (meeting, Bucky mentally corrects himself), Steve tells him he’s an artist. 

“I work for an animation studio, actually,” Steve says, and he looks self-conscious again.

“No way,” Bucky says, and sits forward. “That’s _really_ cool, Steve.”

“What about you?” Steve asks. “What do you do?”

“Oh, I sell cars,” Bucky says. “You know, the SHIELD ones?”

Steve’s eyes light up. “I have a friend who works for them!” he says, excited. “Not in this city, though. Her name’s Sharon.”

“I’ve never met her,” Bucky says, and he really hopes _friend_ doesn’t mean _girlfriend,_ but then he supposes that’d be just his luck.

“Yeah, those cars are so cool,” Steve says. “I’m more of a motorcycle man, though.”

“Aren’t they, like, stupidly dangerous?” Bucky asks. “I thought you were Mr Cautious.”

Steve barks a laugh. “I can honestly say no one’s ever called me _cautious_ before.”

Bucky finds himself grinning back. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Nah, my friend, Sam, he’s always telling me I’m too reckless,” Steve says, and now Bucky really hopes _friend_ doesn’t mean _boyfriend._

“Reckless how?” Bucky asks, because now he’s interested. He can’t imagine Steve, who sprinted to his apartment because Bucky had a slight head injury, as anything close to _reckless._

“Well, last week I chased a mugger for four blocks,” Steve says, calmly, like it’s nothing.

“You did _what?_ ” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, and shrugs. “He got away, though.”

“Could you not call the police?” Bucky asks.

“They wouldn’t have got there fast enough,” Steve says. “I had this entire conversation with Sam.”

“Right,” Bucky says. “I’m glad you have a sensible friend. None of mine are.”

Steve laughs. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t be your first sensible friend, Buck.”

Bucky feels warm and cold at the same time, because _Buck_ but also _friend._ “Shame,” Bucky says, and drinks his coffee.

***

“Why don’t you ask him out properly?” Natasha asks at work the next day, and Bucky frowns at her.

“I barely know him.”

“I think the point of dating is that you get to know the other person,” Natasha says.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I _know,_ but I mean—I could, couldn’t I? I could just ask him out.”

“You’re so smart,” Natasha says. “Did you think of that by yourself?”

Bucky ignores her. “So, what, I just ask to go for dinner instead of coffee?”

“I _know_ you’ve dated before,” Natasha says. “So there’s really no excuse for this.”

“I’m gonna ask him for dinner,” Bucky says triumphantly, and then, “Wait, I can’t. He thinks he’s paying me back for wi-fi, so it’d be like me saying, _let’s go on a date but you have to pay_. That just isn’t done.”

“It isn’t?” Natasha asks.

“So what do I do?” Bucky asks. “Just drop hints?”

“Invite him to cocktails,” Natasha says. “But tell him he has to get your ingredients. Then he’s still paying you back.”

“You’re a genius,” Bucky says reverently. “I will do that. I will do that immediately.”

“First, you’re gonna earn that commission,” Natasha says, and points at a customer. “That one’s yours. Don’t let me down!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, then plasters on his winning smile and approaches them, leaving Natasha smirking after him.

***

Bucky realises he doesn’t have Steve’s phone number, so after work he spends approximately two minutes standing outside Steve’s apartment door working up the nerve to knock. It feels weird — they meet for coffee, and they’ve only done that twice. Going to Steve’s apartment feels like some kind of line is being crossed — although Bucky supposes Steve crossed that line first, and then there’s the whole wi-fi thing.

When Bucky does, finally, summon the nerve, Steve opens the door almost immediately with a cheery, “Hey, Buck!” like knocking on each other’s doors is something they do now.

“Uh, hey,” Bucky says, because he can see into the apartment and Steve isn’t alone. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, come in,” Steve says, and steps back to let him through.

Okay, this is so not going how he anticipated. He steps inside, where a man and a woman are sitting on Steve’s couch and looking at him expectantly.

“Guys, this is Bucky,” Steve says.

“You’re the one who hit his head?” the man says, at the same time the woman says, “Thanks for the wi-fi!”

Bucky isn’t sure how to react to that, but then Steve rescues him: “Bucky, this is Sam and Sharon.”

“Hello,” Bucky says, uncertain. “I am the one who hit his head. And you’re welcome.”

They’re both grinning at him, and Bucky starts to feel a little hot in his jacket. Clearly, Steve’s been talking about him. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

“Can I get you anything?” Steve asks, and he’s moving his hands in front of him like he’s still holding the gauze. “A drink?”

“Actually,” Bucky says, because now he remembers why he’s there, “I’m just stopping by. I came to ask if you…” it occurs to him how rude it’d be to invite Steve over while two other people are in the room, and, hey, maybe it’s a good idea for Steve to have backup when he meets Clint and Natasha for the first time, so he says, “…and you guys too,” and gestures at Sam and Sharon, “want to come over this Thursday for cocktail night. It’s a, uh, _thing_ me and my friends do.”

“A thing?” Sam says.

“Yeah,” Bucky fiddles self-consciously with his sleeve. “It’s my turn to make the cocktails this week.”

“Sounds good!” Steve says brightly from behind him, and Bucky _really_ wants to turn to see his expression. “I’ll get you what you need, right? To keep paying you back?”

Sam and Sharon are both smirking at him, so he turns his back on them to look at Steve. “Sounds good to me,” he says, like that wasn’t his idea anyway.

He stays for a drink after they work out the details, and as soon as Steve mentions that Bucky works for SHIELD, Sharon leans forward and starts grilling him on the latest model. He’s relieved — and surprisingly pleased — to discover they have the exact same opinion, and the conversation turns heated as they both start debating the pros and cons of the newest advertising campaign. They’re still in agreement though, so it’s only _heated_ in the sense that they’re both fiercely nodding at each other whenever the other talks.

“That’s cute,” Bucky hears Sam say, and he looks up long enough to see Steve watching them with a slight crease between his eyebrows. 

Bucky makes it back to his apartment far later than he intended, but he’s feeling optimistic. He has a text from Natasha, just _?,_ and he replies with a thumbs up.

***

Natasha and Clint arrive early at his apartment that Thursday, supposedly to help him _set up,_ which they’ve literally never done before, and Bucky scowls at them when they inspect his kitchen and ask where the wet floor signs are. 

“Hilarious,” Bucky says. The cut has pretty much healed, and whenever he thinks about it he’s vaguely embarrassed that he turned to the internet for help over something so small. But, he supposes it’s a good thing, even if all it ends up doing is exposing the theft of his wi-fi.

“So,” Clint asks, watching Bucky lay out glasses on the kitchen table. “Have you turned off screen sharing now?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Bucky says. “That was like, the first thing I did when he left my apartment.”

“Don’t you want to take advantage of it?” Natasha asks. “Start searching, _how do I get my hot neighbour to like me back?_ ”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “ _No,_ I do not want to do that, and I changed my password anyway so he can’t use my wi-fi anymore even if he tried.”

Clint gasps, loudly, and whips out his phone. “I’ve been on data this whole time?!”

Bucky rolls his eyes again.

“Let me guess, now the password is _4567?_ ” Natasha asks, and Bucky’s saved from answering that, actually, it’s 4321, when someone knocks at the door.

“That’s them,” Bucky says, and feels nerves tight in his stomach. “This was probably a bad idea, wasn’t it?”

“No,” Natasha says. “It was my idea, and I don’t have bad ideas. Go let them in.”

Bucky opens the door and waves them inside. “Everyone, this is Natasha and Clint.”

Steve immediately goes in for handshakes and introduces himself as _Steve Rogers,_ while Sam and Sharon are more casual. Bucky watches them from the door, and then perks up when he sees Natasha’s eyes way wider than he’s ever seen them, and she’s looking at _Sharon._

 _Oh this is good,_ he thinks, and grins, because he has literally never seen Natasha flustered in his life, not even when customers start yelling in her face, but she’s blushing now while Sharon talks to her. It looks like they're  _both_ (maybe) getting dates out of this.

“Right,” Bucky says, after Steve has handed him over his bag of ingredients. “Get yourselves ready for the best damn pina colada of your life.”

Natasha doesn’t even look a little bit competitive because she’s too busy stammering at Sharon, so Bucky’s fairly confident he’s going to win this month’s round of cocktails. It gives him a boost of confidence, which he’s glad about, because he’s very aware of Steve watching him with interest. When he goes to add the ice to the blender, it’s _Steve_ who says, “Careful,” and at first Bucky thinks he’s being serious until he hears Sam snort and realises he’s being _mocked._

“Hey!” he says, exaggeratedly wounded, and flips the rum bottle just a bit to show off. He thinks he catches Steve looking impressed, and that was really his only goal for the night (besides winning the month, of course) so he’s feeling very pleased with himself when he pours out his perfect pina colada mix into six glasses. 

“This is really good,” Steve says, and Bucky feels warmth spreading over him and then ducks his head so no one can see how wide he’s smiling.

“I’m self taught,” he says, and Sam snorts again.

The night unwinds in a way that does nothing to make that warm feeling dissipate — Natasha and Sharon end up next to each other on the couch and talk pretty much only to each other for the rest of the evening, Sam and Clint keep laughing loudly at whatever they're talking about, and Steve and Bucky end up standing in the kitchen, watching all this and smiling, arms brushing.

“This is nice,” Steve says, and Bucky nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

“Hey, if you want, you could come over to my place sometime,” Steve says, and Bucky feels his insides jolt. “You know, so I can return the favour.”

“You don’t have to return the favour,” Bucky starts, faintly exasperated, because Steve is supposed to be _repaying him_ and he bought Bucky’s ingredients anyway _,_ but then, somehow, Natasha must’ve overheard because her head shoots up and she stares narrow-eyed at Bucky and he, slowly, says, “but that sounds really nice, thanks. Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great,” Steve says, softly, and Bucky feels warmer.

***

“Would it be weird,” Natasha says when she sees him at work the next day, instead of something normal like, _hello,_ “if I dated Sharon while you were dating Steve?”

Bucky hangs his bag up next to hers in the staff room and says, “You’ve spoken to her for like three hours and you’re already thinking that far ahead?”

“We’re not all disasters like you,” Natasha says breezily.

“Ouch,” Bucky says. “But fair. Okay, ignoring that I’m not actually dating Steve yet, no, it wouldn’t be weird. We could do double dates.”

Natasha gives him her dazzling, salesperson smile, and says, “That was what I was going to say if you said yes.”

“Of course it was,” Bucky says, and they head out into the shop together. “Can I assume going to Steve’s for dinner is a date?”

“I think it would be safe,” Natasha says.

“But he could still be repaying me,” Bucky realises, and Natasha groans and puts her head in her hands. “He could, right?” Bucky insists. “He’s going to buy food and cook it and stuff. That could be paying me back.”

“Why don’t you just _ask him?_ ” Natasha says.

“I could ruin it!” Bucky protests, and Natasha groans again. “What if this is just friendship for him, or it’s _purely transactional—_ ”

Natasha actually walks away from him to approach a customer, and he folds his arms and watches her go, frowning deeply. This isn’t the best way to attract sales, he knows, but it’s his thinking face.

 _Ask him,_ he thinks, _but don’t make it weird._ Sure, he can do that. He can be cool.

Natasha would say, _so cool you met him by falling on your face,_ and he’d ignore her. 

***

When what Bucky has privately started thinking of as Date Night rolls round, he spends way too long trying to pick out a shirt that says, _we’re just two friends hanging out_  but also _this is totally a date._ He settles on a button up and his best jeans, then digs around his apartment for a pair of shoes that aren’t scuffed to hell but also aren’t his work shoes. 

Steve apparently stuck to the same dress code, because he’s in a tight black jumper that manages to be casual and formal at the same time, and Bucky isn’t sure whether he’s eyeing it so intently because he wants to learn Steve’s style secrets, or because it’s really _very_ tight. He can see everything, and it’s great.

“Come on in,” Steve says, and Bucky does. The lights are turned down lower than usual, which Bucky counts as score one for the date column, and he can see something cooking in the kitchen.

“That smells good,” Bucky says, and Steve beams.

“It’s my speciality,” he says.

“You cooked your speciality just for me?” Bucky says, and does his best to smirk in a way that makes him look unbearably hot (he practised in the mirror).

Steve laughs and ducks his head. “Sure I did.”

“I brought this with me," Bucky says, and holds out the bottle of wine he’d spent way too long agonising over ( _is it too date-ish?_ he’d text Natasha, and she’d replied with  _YOU WANT THIS TO BE A DATE_ and ignored the rest of his messages).

“Oh,” Steve says, and takes it from him. “Thanks. You didn’t have to, you know. I’m paying _you_ back.”

“I know,” Bucky says, and reluctantly adds a score to the _just friends settling a debt_ column. 

“No pina coladas tonight?” Steve says, teasingly, as he puts the bottle on the kitchen table.

Before Bucky can think better of it, he says, “You have a standing invitation to cocktail night.” He’s going to have to check that with Natasha and Clint — especially Clint, who almost never cleans his apartment — but he thinks they won’t mind. It’s for a worthy cause.

Steve smiles at him. “I’m glad to hear it.” He waves at the table. “Make yourself at home, it’s almost done.”

Bucky sits down and watches Steve stir whatever it is on the hob. “So, do you cook a lot?” He asks.

Steve shrugs without turning around. His shoulders really are broad, Bucky thinks, and wishes Steve had opened the wine already so he could start drowning his sorrows early. “When I can,” he says. “Work keeps me busy, though.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that going?” Bucky asks.

Steve points him to the living room, and says, “I’ve got some stuff in there from my last project. You can look, if you want.”

He sounds nervous, so Bucky says, “ _Yeah_ I want to look,” and hops out of his chair. There’s an art folder on the table, and Bucky flicks it open. It’s full of pencil drawings of animals, really cute ones, some of them painted in watercolour and some coloured with marker pens. “These are amazing,” Bucky says, and lingers on a drawing of a monkey riding a unicycle. “Man, I can’t even draw stick figures.”

It’s clearly not a great joke, but Steve still laughs, and Bucky feels warm again.

“How’s selling cars?” Steve asks, and Bucky stops leafing through the drawings.

“Same old same old,” he says, and sets the folder carefully back on the coffee table. He catches sight of a photo frame — it holds a picture of a woman with her arm round a short, skinny guy, and Bucky realises it’s _Steve._ He looks for too long; Steve walks through from the kitchen and catches him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Steve says, when Bucky starts guiltily. “Yes, that’s me.”

Bucky looks from the picture to him. “You’re taller now.”

Steve shrugs again. “Hit a growth spurt in my teens.”

It must’ve been quite the growth spurt, Bucky thinks. He’s kind of charmed by the massive smile on smaller Steve’s face. 

“That’s my ma,” Steve says, quietly. “Her name was Sarah.”

“You look like her,” Bucky says. He catches the past tense but doesn’t ask.

“I get that a lot,” Steve says, and smiles kind of privately to himself. “Dinner’s done, by the way.”

Dinner turns out to be the best pasta Bucky’s ever tasted.

“This is _so good,_ ” he says, winding pasta around his fork. “Seriously, Steve, this is amazing.”

Steve looks embarrassed again, but he’s smiling. “Not as good as your cocktails, I’m sure.”

“My cocktail game _has_ improved since I got the blender,” Bucky says, and drinks his wine. “I was starting to strain my arms from using the shaker.”

Steve laughs, and Bucky notices his eyes fall to the prosthetic. He’ll explain eventually, Bucky thinks, but he’s already almost ruined the atmosphere once tonight, so he changes the subject.

Bucky’s really, _really_ glad to find that talking to Steve is incredibly easy — there’s not a single awkward silence for the whole night, and he already knew they could chat just fine after their coffee not-dates and cocktail night, but an entire evening alone over dinner feels different. Steve goes pink-cheeked and bright eyed when they finish the wine, smiling wider and longer, and Bucky _really_ wishes this was a date for sure, because if it was he wouldn’t have to keep looking away when their eyes catch for too long.

At the end of the night, Steve actually says _I’ll walk you home,_ even though home is literally one door away, and it makes Bucky’s stomach do all kinds of weird things. He _likes_ Steve, he realises — he doesn’t just think he’s hot, he actually _likes him,_ a lot actually, and it’s a great and awful realisation at the same time because it makes things a lot more complicated.

“So,” Steve says, outside Bucky’s door. They’re facing each other in front of it, and if this was a date, Bucky would probably kiss him. “When am I next seeing you?”

“Hmm,” Bucky says, and then thinks of something that he’s sure would make Natasha proud. “Why don’t you give me your number, and I’ll text you?”

Steve’s eyes go a bit wide, and Bucky abruptly loses that warm fuzzy feeling because _oh god this wasn’t a date at all—_

“You mean we’ve been meeting up for a month without swapping numbers?” Steve says, and laughs, and Bucky relaxes.

“Ha,” he manages, and fishes his phone from his pocket and hands it to Steve.

Before he goes to bed, his phone lights up with a text: _tonight was really nice,_ is all it says, but Bucky goes to sleep smiling anyway.

***

“What did he say?” Natasha asks. 

“What?” Bucky says, half-listening because he’s supposed to be concentrating on the actual work they have to do at their actual job. 

“When you asked him about dating,” Natasha says, and Bucky freezes. “You didn’t ask, did you?”

“No,” Bucky says, and then adds before Natasha can start yelling at him, “I got his number, though!”

She sighs loudly at him. “So now you’re even _more_ confused, aren’t you?”

“A bit,” Bucky admits. “He text me good morning. Are we dating?”

“My god,” Natasha says. “You’re hopeless.”

***

_I know something we can do,_ Steve texts him a few days later, and Bucky throws himself back on the couch to reply. He's been dropping everything to answer Steve's texts, lately - and there've been a lot of them.

_Cool,_ he types, then deletes it to write _oh yeah?,_ then deletes _that_ to write _what’s that?_ He hits send, then thinks _oh yeah?_ was probably better.

 _There’s a firework show at the park for the 4th,_ Steve’s next text reads. _I know a good place to watch._

Bucky usually spends the 4th of July getting drunk with Natasha and Clint, but guesses they won’t care if he skips out this year. It’s for a worthy cause.

 _Sounds great,_ Bucky replies.

 _I’ll pick you up at eight?_ Steve texts, and Bucky grins stupidly down at his phone because _they live next door to each other_ but Steve still says stuff like that.

 _I’ll be waiting,_ he replies without thinking, then thinks that probably sounded way too desperate because it’s only the 1st and he’s not going to sit around waiting for the next three nights. Is he?

But Steve reacts to his message with a smiley, so Bucky thinks he’s in the clear.

 _Hey,_ he texts Natasha, _I’m gonna miss the 4th this year_

 _Me too,_ she replies. _I’m watching the fireworks with Sharon, ON A DATE_

Bucky stares open mouthed at his screen, then throws his phone onto the couch next to him.

***

Steve knocks for him at 8pm sharp on the 4th, and Bucky totally hasn’t been sitting waiting since 7:30, so he totally doesn’t have to stand in front of the door and count to thirty before enough time has passed for him to open it and still seem casual.

“Hey,” Steve says, and smiles at him, and Bucky’s stomach starts doing flips again.

 _Knock it off,_ he thinks, furiously, and simultaneously tries to keep his smile from going strained. “Hey.”

They walk to the park, chatting easily the whole way, then Steve actually takes his hand to tug him off the road and up a path that climbs a hill shaded thickly by trees. Steve lets go of his hand almost immediately, but it does nothing for Bucky’s stomach, which is still all twisty and excited.

“Up here,” Steve says, and they go up the path to the top of the hill, where Steve waves him to a clearing in the trees. Bucky gasps, because the view really is perfect — between the trees either side of them, they can see all the way down to the crowd below, and all the way up to the clear sky.

“Wow,” Bucky says.

“No one really knows this is here,” Steve says, sitting down on the grass. Bucky follows. “I think all the trees put people off, but I come up here to draw sometimes.”

Now Bucky’s _heart_ is getting excited. “I’d like to see those drawings someday.”

Steve grins across at him. “You will.”

“What do you normally do on the 4th?” Bucky asks, gazing out over the crowd and trying to catch a flash of red hair.

“Well,” Steve says, and coughs slightly. “It’s actually my birthday, so—”

“ _What?_ ” Bucky says, and whips his head towards him. “Why didn’t you say?! I didn’t get you anything—”

“I know you didn’t,” Steve says, smiling oddly at him. “You didn’t know.”

“But I _would’ve,_ if I did,” Bucky insists.

“What would you have got me?” Steve asks, smiling. “A new wi-fi package?”

“Ha,” Bucky says, dryly, then, “No, I would’ve gotten you some art pencils, or something. Charcoal, or paint maybe. I don’t—I don’t know what you use.” He scratches self-consciously at the back of his neck when Steve doesn’t say anything. “Well, you probably have all that stuff anyway, so—”

“No, Buck,” Steve breaks in, smiling a very soft smile. “That would’ve been lovely.”

Bucky can feel himself going red, so he looks forward and says, “Didn’t you want to be with your friends on your birthday?”

“Sharon’s busy,” Steve says, and Bucky smirks down at the crowd, “and Sam’s a vet, so he avoids fireworks.”

“Oh,” Bucky says.

“But I’d be here with you anyway,” Steve says, quickly. “Even if they weren’t busy.”

Bucky’s heart _and_ stomach are all excited now. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and then he actually, honest to god inches his hand closer on the grass and curls his fingers over Bucky’s. Except, it’s the fingers of Bucky’s left hand, so he jumps a bit.

“Accident,” Bucky says, quietly, not looking at him. “I was on a train that derailed. Lost the arm, but they had some kind of fancy medical trial I signed up to and that’s how I got this. State of the art.” He pulls his hand from under Steve’s and waggles his metal fingers at him. “See?”

“I see,” Steve says, and catches Bucky’s fingers. He brushes his thumb, very gently, across the metal. Bucky can’t _feel_ exactly with that arm, but he can sense pressure, and its heat sensitive, so — it’s nice, really, is what he’s thinking. It feels nice. “It was just cold,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky likes how deep his voice is. “That’s why I jumped.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. Steve keeps running his thumb back and forth over his fingers, and after a little while, Bucky turns his hand enough to wind their fingers together, and Steve squeezes his hand. God, he really hopes this is a date.

The fireworks start, and they’re spectacular, really — he’s never really made a thing out of watching them before, but he thinks he might from now on. He’s gaping at them when he feels a warm hand on his jaw, and then Steve turns his head towards him and kisses him.

Oh, this is nice, Bucky thinks, dazedly. This is _really_ nice. Steve’s mouth is as soft as that stupid sweater on their not-dinner-date-night had looked, and he’s really _warm,_ and he’s still brushing his thumb back and forth but this time across Bucky’s cheek and Bucky just kind of _melts_ into him, and Steve’s arm wraps around him and he doesn’t see any more of the fireworks for the rest of the night.

***

Steve is sketching, and Bucky is watching the graceful movements of his hands, listening to the whisper of pencil lead on paper, and he’s very, very still because he doesn’t want to do anything that’d disturb this moment. But there’s something he _really_ needs to say, so he does. 

“Are we dating?” he blurts out, and Steve’s hand pauses, and his blue eyes look up at him.

“You’re naked in my bed,” Steve says.

“I _know,_ but are we dating?” he presses, and the corner of Steve’s mouth is starting to curl up.

“Well, we’ve been seeing each other regularly for about five months now,” Steve says, pretend-thoughtful, and Bucky resists hurling a pillow at him, because it might ruin the drawing. “And I paid off the wi-fi about two months ago, so…”

“So we _are_ dating,” Bucky says, relieved.

“Were you really not sure?” Steve asks. “I thought asking you out for coffee that first time was pretty clear.”

Bucky looks at the ceiling. “I thought you were just paying me back,” he mumbles, and Steve starts laughing.

“Oh, Buck,” he sighs, and goes back to drawing.

Bucky looks back down at him. “Hey, show me that.”

Steve puts down his pencil. “It’s not done yet,” he warns, then flips round his sketchpad.

It’s a drawing of Bucky, lounging in bed, cover pooled at his waist, a smile on his face. It makes Bucky’s heart start doing that flippy thing again.

“I love it,” Bucky says, and then, “C’mere.”

Steve puts his sketchpad aside, leans in and gets a hand in Bucky’s hair, tilts his head to kiss him deep and slow. 

“I’m so glad we’re dating,” Bucky mumbles against his lips, and Steve breaks off to laugh and laugh.

***

 _We’re dating!_ Bucky texts Natasha later, and her answer comes back immediately: _great. I’ve known me and Sharon have been dating for the past five months now, because I’m a functioning adult_

Bucky hides his laugh in Steve’s pillow.

**Author's Note:**

> head injuries ARE serious, folks


End file.
